


Pack Animals

by MoonlitWaterSunnyRiver



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Transformation, Gen, Multi, Mustang's Team, Parental Roy Mustang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:11:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlitWaterSunnyRiver/pseuds/MoonlitWaterSunnyRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were his pack. He was their leader. That was the way it worked in Colonel Mustang’s office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pack Animals

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DragonLover94’s challenge on the Fully Combustive Material for the Fanfic Author forum. I actually wrote this a few years ago and I'm still proud of it, which is unusual. Enjoy! TW for animals, violence and bullying mention.

            It was Roy Mustang’s fourth consecutive hour of paperwork, and his anima was getting restless.

            “Oh, quiet, you,” he muttered to himself. “Work first, running later.”

            His inner self made a mournful sound in reply, and Roy couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He was half tempted to make some lame excuse and leave, when the door was rather ungraciously kicked down.

            He didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. If the unorthodox method of entry hadn’t clued him in, the sound of relentless scratching would have.

            “Got a report for me, Fullmetal?”

            “Go screw your mother,” retorted the thirteen-year-old, still scratching at his neck. Roy smirked.

            “Shedding season already?”

            “Shut up,” hissed the blond. “No one told me animae were so much freaking work.”

            Wordlessly, Roy pulled something from his desk drawer. He gave it a squeeze, and a squeak emanated from the small grey object – which he proceeded to toss across the room.

            No sooner had it landed than Edward was crouched next to it, batting at it with his hand and glittering eyes. A moment later, he kicked it away and glared at the Colonel.

            “Bastard. Next time I’ll bring you a bone to chew on.”

            “Make sure it’s nice and meaty,” replied Mustang, not missing a beat. “Your report, Fullmetal.”

            With a sigh, Edward flopped down onto the black leather sofa and began to tell the tale of his latest adventure. He’d used his anima in a fight for the first time, apparently to great success – although it didn’t make Al feel any better about not being able to access his.

            Once he was finished, he glanced up at Roy, gauging him for a reaction.

            “Fullmetal, show me your anima.”

            “Why?”

            Roy held up one finger. “One. You haven’t actually shown me since you first accessed it, and as your commanding officer, I’m obligated to know.”

             “I told you what it was, bastard!”

            “You told me it was a cat. That’s hardly specific enough – and I need to see it with my own two eyes.”

            Ed groaned, leaning his head back. “But it’s bloody _uncomfortable –_ “

            “Which is reason two. You need to be just as comfortable in one skin as the other.”

            “I don’t see the rest of you strutting around in your anima –“

            “Because most of them are hardly suitable for office work. In the field, however, they’re indispensable.”

            With a sigh, Ed got to his feet and put back the door. Roy supposed he wanted a modicum of privacy, especially in the early days of having his anima.

            “Don’t you dare fucking laugh.”

            “I promise.” And he meant it, too. Mocking Ed in his human skin was one thing; his animal form was quite another.

            With a sigh, Ed shed his coat and jacket, closed his eyes – and _shifted._

Roy peered over the edge of his desk. Sitting on its haunches, glaring up at him with the same fierce golden eyes and trying to attract attention away from its – somehow still perfectly sized – automail, was a tawny-furred lynx.

            He smiled despite himself. He couldn’t have picked a better anima for the little hurricane he seemed to have quasi-adopted. “I like the automail.”

            The lynx shrugged, a queerly human gesture on the cat’s shoulders, and a moment later, Ed was crouching there again. “I really have to think about it. If I don’t, I end up a two-legged cat. Which is a fat lot of good if you’re in trouble.” He straightened up. “Can I go now?”

            “Of course. Unless there’s anything else you’d like to ask me?”

            Ed seemed about to, but he shook his head. “Nah. See you later, Colonel Jackass.”

* * *

            The anima had been around since at least the time of Xerxes, but nobody knew exactly what they were. Some said they were animal spirits who chose to house themselves in a human’s body when they came of age. Some said they were the base side of a person, emerging in an animal form at puberty, when emotions ran the hottest. Some said they were simply a gift from God. 

            Whatever the cause, the people of Amestris had always been able to change into animals at puberty. Every animal was represented in staggering number, and each person’s anima always represented them, even if they weren’t aware of just how at the time. Even the word meant ‘soul’ in Xerxian, and to see someone’s anima was to see their true measure.

* * *

             Roy finished the paperwork early, the urge to run almost overwhelming him several times. The moment he’d scrawled his name onto the last piece of paperwork, he rushed out of his office, to where Hawkeye was working.

            “Hawkeye. Come run with me.”

            She looked up at him, and then shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid not tonight, sir.”

            His heart sank. “Tomorrow, then.”

            “I can’t promise, sir, but I’ll try.”

            So he would run alone tonight – so be it.

* * *

             Unsurprisingly, Riza Hawkeye’s anima was a red-tailed hawk. She couldn’t fire a gun in the air, but her talons and beak were still formidable weapons. Cool, efficient and predatory…it suited her to a T. Yet, hawks were also incredibly territorial – and she protected her little ‘pack’ like a territory.

            She’d given him one of her tailfeathers once, when she’d begun moulting. He kept in the top drawer of his bedside table, next to a tuft of grey raccoon fur.

* * *

            A few minutes later, he was galloping on four feet down the main road, revelling in the sensation of the wind in his hair…fur…it didn’t matter. He was _Roy Mustang,_ and this was _living._

He turned onto an alleyway, the smell of meat tempting him down the narrow street. He didn’t balk from acting his animal self when he wore this skin – who would ever know?

            It was that which saved him.

            The ricochet of bullets against the brick wall sent his animal mind into overdrive, sending his feet into motion on their own. Before his human mind reasserted itself, he were already dashing at full speed down the main road, except this time in terror instead of joy.

            He forced himself to slow down, and maintained a slow canter on the circuitous route he took back to his apartment. Once he was sure he was not being watched, he shifted back, heart still thumping.

            Who in their right minds would fire at an anima? Some animae, true, could be mistaken for common animals – but not his, not in the middle of Central in the middle of _summer._

Had they known it was him, a Colonel? He doubted it. Animae were notoriously difficult to match to their human counterparts, even if they retained scars, automail and colouring. Yes, Roy’s anima was as jet-black as his hair, but there was no way to discern him from every other of his kind.

            Unless…A terrible thought suggested itself, and he resolutely pushed it away. It didn’t bear thinking about...but if something like this was to happen to someone without a fight-or-flight instinct…

            He picked up the phone in shaking fingers, and dialled Hughes’s number.

* * *

            Most people expected Maes to be a bear, or a koala, but the truth surprised anybody who didn’t know him well enough. His anima was a raccoon, grey and black with a mask around his eyes.

            To Roy, it made perfect sense. Maes’ talent was in digging out whatever you didn’t want him to know, stealing tidbits of information from the unlikeliest of sources. You could begin a conversation with Maes insisting that you and someone else had a purely professional relationship and end it with you raging at him for daring suggest that you would ever be unfaithful to her.

            Not that Roy knew anything about that.

* * *

            Like Roy had explained to Edward, their animae didn’t find much use in the office – so when Havoc padded in on four feet, a precious burden quivering in the gentle grasp of his jaws, he knew something was wrong.

            “What is it?”

            Havoc carefully laid down the burden and nudged it with his black nose. Roy’s heart stopped. It was a red-tailed hawk.

            “Riza!” The first name escaped him before he could stop himself, and he knelt by the bird, taking in the blood-matted feathers, the twisted, broken wing –

            She shifted under him, and suddenly she was a woman again, clutching her arm and clenching her teeth. “Sorry, sir,” she said, voice as calm as ever.

            “What happened, Hawkeye?”

            “Just a few idiots throwing stones. One of them caught my wing. I think my arm’s broken.”

            Roy glanced down at where she clutched her arm. There was some blood, but not as much as he’d feared. “It seems it gashed you rather badly as well. Here, I’ll bandage you up -”

            She pulled her hand away. “It’s not so bad, sir.”

            “If you insist. But get yourself to the hospital, _now._ Get Falman to drive you.”

            She nodded, sitting up. “Of course, sir. Thank you, Havoc.”

            Once Riza was gone, Roy fixed the malamute with an evil glare. “Lieutenant Jean Havoc, why on Earth did you bring her _here_?”

            Havoc shifted back, combing bracken and leaves out of his hair and off of his uniform. “I would have taken her straight to the hospital, Chief, but the thing is –“

            “What?” he snapped.

            “Thing is, who’s dumb enough to throw rocks at animals? You never know who’s in their skin.” He shrugged. “Just seems…odd to me.”

            Roy interlaced his fingers and leant his elbows on his desk, eyes narrowed. “Havoc, what exactly did you see?”

            “We were just doing patrol – me on the ground, her in the air. There was a man on top of one of the buildings, and he started picking up stones and throwing them at her.”

            Roy started. “A man? Not kids?”

            Havoc nodded. “I’m certain.”

            “Did he see you?”

            “No. When she went down I went to fetch her first thing.”

            “I see. You’re dismissed – and get those twigs out of your hair.”

* * *

             Jean Havoc was a malamute – a type of husky, although his form had sandy fur that matched his hair. He was a dog of the military, yes, and that’s what most people’s minds immediately went to when they heard of his anima.

            But it went beyond that – so, so far beyond that. Malamutes were friendly, energetic and playful, although a good bound from one could send even an Armstrong tumbling over. Jean in particular loved nothing more than rolling in the grass and chasing butterflies, batting at them with his giant paws.

            However, malamutes were fierce too. Like wolves, they were pack animals at heart, and it took only the hint of a threat to one of his pack for Jean’s drooling tongue to turn to bared, slavering teeth.

            Roy pitied the man who’d taken down Hawkeye if Jean Havoc ever found him. _Of course,_ he amended, _that’s if there’s anything left after I’m done._

* * *

            He called Maes again the minute Havoc left. “We’ve got another one, Maes. Somebody’s targeting our animae.”

            _“Who is it this time?”_

Roy tried to keep the hate from leaking into his voice, but it was a hopeless struggle. “Hawkeye.”

            He could hear Hughes sucking in air through his teeth. _“Jeez. These people must have a death-wish.”_

“Have you found anything?”

            _“I’m doing my best. Only thing I’ve got is Lieutenant-Colonel Bartholomew Biggsley.”_

Roy stifled a chuckle.

            _“It gets worse, his middle name is Billingsworth. Anyway, he’s been angling for your position for a while. Aside from that, I’ve got nothing.”_

“Alright. Thanks, Hughes.” He hung up, mulling over the situation. If someone _was_ targeting their animae, they would have to have pictures – and good ones, too. Shooting the wrong dog or bird could have huge repercussions.

            They were being followed, then. All of them. Except -

            “Falman, could you come in here, please?”

            He obeyed. “Yes, sir?”

            “I’ve got a job for you.” Roy waited a heartbeat. “An anima job.”

            Falman’s face fell.

* * *

            Even if they were the reflection of you, not everybody liked their anima. Superstition was that only the evil could not stand their second skin, but that simply wasn’t true. Vato Falman disliked his anima for a very simple reason: he was a pigeon. 

            Pigeons, Roy knew, were very useful birds. They could blend in everywhere, survive in just about any environment, and were completely indistinguishable from one another.

            But it didn’t make it any easier for Falman to bear. Roy knew his story – the plain one, the strange one, desperate for puberty to hit so that he’d have some animal, something to fight back with against the people who made his life hell.

            It had come, in the night as it usually did, the itching as a second skin grew for the first time, and Vato had stood in front of his mirror, staring at the animal that defined who he _really_ was.

* * *

            Despite his aversion to his animal skin, Falman accepted the mission with his usual grace. He was to follow each of them – Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda and Fuery – whenever and wherever he could, and try to pinpoint who was tracking all four.

            “You’re the only one who can do it, Falman,” explained Roy, noticing his reticence. “Hawkeye’s broken her arm, and besides, with your memory and a bird’s eye view…For anyone else, this would take weeks, and I don’t think we have weeks.”

            Falman nodded briskly, although Roy thought he could detect a hint of a pleased flush on his cheeks.

            “And, Falman, after this is over…” he smiled. “We should go running sometime.”

            The smile that split the shy man’s face was wonderful to see.

* * *

           Kain Fuery was a small man, both in personality and stature. He had a tendency, the same as Falman, to shrink away from attention whenever it was offered to him. However, unlike the grey-haired Warrant Officer, Fuery stayed at people’s heels, happy to be the second in line, happy to be a follower. 

            Unsurprisingly to anyone, he was a tiny black Russell terrier, little pointed ears always flicking around and tail wagging furiously. He loved dogs of all kind, in either form, and one of Roy’s favourite office photos was one of anima-Havoc picking up Fuery the terrier by the scruff like a mama dog.

* * *

             The ferocious barking from outside his window alerted to him that something was very, very wrong. Fighting the temptation to shift and merely jump the two stories, he ran down the stairs and burst out of the doors, just in time to see malamute Havoc tackle a beefy man to the ground.

            “Havoc! HEEL!” he cried out without thinking, and bit his lip as Havoc gave him a baleful glare. Still, after giving the man a powerful bat with his paw, he retreated, although instead of to Roy, he curled around a little bundle.

             Fuery was making some rather pitiful sounds, and Havoc licked at some of the scratches, raspy tongue cleaning up some of the blood.

             The man tried to get up, but Roy planted his boot on his chest. “I swear, I didn’t do nothin’, that stupid dog just attacked me –“

             Roy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “That ‘stupid dog’ is one of my most valued officers. Havoc, get Fuery to the hospital.”

             Havoc shifted back and lifted the terrier to his breast. “It’ll be alright, Kain,” he murmured, stroking the fur on the small dog’s back. “That _bastard_ was throwing stones at him.”

            “Stones again?” Roy leant down towards the man under his boot. “Tell me, why were you attacking my subordinate?”

             “I never,” he growled. “Was just some mangy dog –“

             Roy pressed down on his boot. “Are you from somewhere outside of Amestris? I doubt it, you don’t have an accent. Is this concept of animae strange to you? You’re on military property. You don’t attack animals.”

             The man growled again, but said nothing more. A second later, Roy’s boot was on empty air, and a mosquito winged away.

            “Tiny, cowardly bloodsucker. Sounds about right.” He would have to make another call to Hughes.

* * *

             Breda had a rare anima – some animals didn’t show up as much, although there were cases of just about one of everything, even insects and fish. Armadillos were rarer than most, although Roy couldn’t deny that it represented Heymans better than any common animal he could think up.

            Nothing quite described it better than Breda’s own words – “I may be fat, but I’m armoured and dangerous!” he’d chortled during his first interview with the then Lieutenant-Colonel Mustang when he’d been asked to talk about his anima. “Besides, it seems to run in my family. My father was an ant-eater and my uncle’s a platypus.”

* * *

            In the end, Roy called in Edward. 

            “Got another mission for me already, Colonel Bastard?”

            “In a manner of speaking.” Roy exhaled slowly. “Somebody has photographs of all of our animae – and they’ve been targeting us.”

            “Jesus! Are you serious?”

            Roy nodded. “I was shot at. Hawkeye’s wing was broken on patrol. Fuery was assaulted by a man on military property. All in animal skin.”

            Ed bared his teeth. “What do you want me to do?” It was interesting how in the early days of an anima, it leaked through – Ed’s hackles were practically bristling.

            “Your anima is new, fresh; there’s no way anybody has pictures of it yet. I want you to find them and give them a very, very clear warning.” His eyes glinted, the animal inside flashing through. “Stay away from my pack.”

            Ed grinned. “Sure thing. Who are they?”

            Roy slid the file over to him. “Oh, and make sure you thank Falman for getting all this.”

            “I will.” Ed chuckled darkly. “I’ll take care of it, bastard. Don’t worry.”

* * *

            Everybody in the office – including Alphonse, and excepting Ed – took part in a betting pool on what Al’s anima would be once he got his body back. 

            Breda swore up and down he’d be some sort of lemur or monkey – “you’re tricksy enough, even in that armour.”

            Havoc’s money was rather on a dog of some sort. “I could do with another playmate. And you seem like a spaniel or a retriever to me, especially if you look anything like your brother.”

            Hawkeye, although she insisted that it was the only bet she would ever place, had the opinion that Al belonged in the shape of a swan. “They’re beautiful but they can break a man’s arm.”

            Fuery was on Havoc’s team, although Roy suspected he hoped Al would be a much _smaller_ dog.

            Al himself was hoping for a tabby cat. “Imagine that! I’d be CUTE!” he gushed, amidst the merriment of the rest of the team. “And most people look kind of like their family members, right? So I’d be a cat like Brother.”

            Roy, however, had watched the Elrics spar too many times to agree with any of them. Al, even in his clunky body, was light on his feet and sly, always defeating the attack-oriented Ed. He was a cat, alright, but far more dangerous than a tabby, or even Fullmetal’s lynx.

            Al was – should be, anyway – sleek, deadly, silent, cunning…

            “A panther,” was his bet. And he fully expected to be right.

* * *

             Ed returned with five men – all hired by Lieutenant-Colonel Biggsley, all willing to testify against him and ‘nail his ass to the ground’, as Fullmetal so eloquently put it.

            They won. As usual.

            Just another day at the office.

            “So what now, Colonel?”

            Roy glanced up from underneath his fringe, surprised at the lack of an insult tacked on after his title. “What do you mean, Fullmetal?”

            “Well…they’re gonna point the finger at Lieutenant-Colonel Bigboots or whatever the hell his name is. The courts are gonna take care of it. But what do _we_ do now?”

            Roy smiled slightly. Ed had been in the military just more than a year, but he was still adjusting. “We live. We wait for Hawkeye and Fuery to heal, then everything’s back to normal.”

            “And when something happens again?”

            “We deal with it again. One step at a time, Edward.”

            Ed stuck his hands into his pockets. “I like my anima,” he declared after a moment. “It’s cool.”

            “I rather prefer mine.”

            “I’m sure you do. But…” Pain lanced across Ed’s face. “Al can’t access his. Until I get his body back.”

            Roy’s smile turned into a smirk. “Well, then, you’d better keep searching.”

            He returned the expression. “Yeah.” They remained in an easy silence for some time, before Roy finally broke it.

            “Is there something else you wanted to ask me?”

            Ed shrugged. “I guess, but…it can wait.” He started heading for the door, but Roy blocked his way before he could, two legs suddenly four and his pelt bristling in the sudden breeze his leap had created.

            Ed blinked, and his mouth parted slightly as he took in Roy’s anima – he’d known it was canine, but he’d never had the courage to ask. “A wolf, huh?” He got down on one knee, gazing into the black eyes nestled among the inky fur. “No wonder we fight like cats and dogs.”

            That earned him a friendly headbutt from the shifted Mustang, and Ed pushed back, laughing.

* * *

             He and Riza went running as soon as they could, wolf and hawk racing each other down the roads. He was the fleetest of foot, her the swiftest of wing, but neither could quite outmatch the other.

            Finally, shifting back into human form, they leant against each other, panting. “I’m never going to beat you, am I?”

            “Never, sir.”

            He chuckled again, struggling to catch his breath.

* * *

            They were his pack. He was their leader. That was the way it worked in Colonel Mustang’s office.

            Roy didn’t want it any other way.


End file.
